strange radiation: the pool of radiance archive
Adventures with an unreliable narrator.
« September 2004 | Main | November 2004 »
Oct 29 04: springtime for stupid
I just have to share this one. Today while editing some ms I came across this little gem:
2. The amount of interest the card company will charge is 17.99% APR. That means the special interest rate of 17.99% will be charged through the month of April. What do you think will happen after April?
May I go home now, please?
Oct 22 04: science friday
Okay, this made my geeky little heart skip a beat.
Scientists grow brain in petri dish, teach it to fly a plane
Ladies and gentlemen, I give you wetware.
(Via BoingBoing.)
Oct 16 04: uh-oh.
My ending to the robot story just went kablooie, I think. Or at least I’m going to need some reassurance from those who have read the existing drafts.
I mean, sure, there’s the massive property damage, but still: you save the people of your fair city—heck, the Earth—from the Giant Acidic Space Blob, and you get grounded for it?
How not-fair is that?
Oct 15 04: kitsch me, you fool
It started innocently enough. My new computer monitor finally arrived on Wednesday, and at the bottom of the box was a promotional flyer. Hardly unusual: if somebody’s buying a computer monitor, you’ve obviously got a great chance to target them with ads for oh, games or external drives or wireless keyboards or whatever. But that’s not what the ad was for.
It was for Season of the Wolf. A “bold Native American style collectible replica ceremonial tomahawk, featuring the thrilling wolf art of famed artist Al Agnew on its blade.” Which you could also describe as “a deathless masterpiece of brain-melting pseudo-romanto-Injun kitsch.” I didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry, so I figured I’d share it with you, dear readers, instead.
Of course, once I’d discovered the site, how could I not browse the aisles? And I’m so glad I did, because if I hadn’t I’d never have discovered Elvis as a Dog. Or the cutesy-boo snowmen or the snuggy-wuggy Wizard of Oz set or, God help me, Mary’s Moo-Moos Go to War. I’d have missed the Irish Angel and the ’70s Mommy Angel (complete with Bette Midler soundtrack!), the Coca-Cola™ Cruiser and the hypersaccharine My Little Pony knock-offs. I would have missed the Symbols of Enduring Freedom, without which I might never have gotten over 9/11. (“An awe-inspiring testament to the combined pride, dignity, and honor of all Americans.” Honey, I have way more dignity than this thing, and this is me we’re talking about.)
It should surprise nobody that Thomas Kinkade— the Painter of Light, the Gate and the Guardian of the Gate—is all over the place in this thing. My personal favorite is the Porcelain Night Before Christmas House. It’s “inspired by the heartwarming charm of Thomas Kinkade art and a holiday classic, the beloved ‘Twas The Night Before Christmas poem.” The rooms light up, one by one, as the voice of Thomas Kinkade himself actually reads you the beloved ‘Twas The Night Before Christmas poem! “You’ll love watching the rapt expressions of your family and friends as they experience this exclusive limited-edition Thomas Kinkade collectible story house,” they tell us.
Boy, I’ll bet.
Anyway, go thou and be amazed. Plus you can snort derisively at the horrific ad copy. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.
Oct 13 04: news flash
This just in: Apparently today is not Thursday.
In other news, my sandwich is delicious, thank you.
bombtickings
I had a conference call scheduled with the client for ‘about 2:30.’ The first one of the project. My first call flying solo in this manner. I had to run an errand at lunchtime, but no problem—I’d still be back by 2, sandwich in hand.
Wrong. My lunchtime errand-running got mired in transit issues, which meant that I soon realized I’d be lucky to hit my desk by 2:15. I decided that if I picked up lunch on the way in, I’d risk missing the call from the client, so I put it off. I’d be back on the street by 3, and I could get a sandwich and wolf it down. Because if I let my blood sugar get low, I get rather snarly with people.
It is now just past 3 o’clock. I have not eaten since breakfast. I am popping chocolate bars from the dish down the hall to keep my blood sugar up, but I may be fighting a losing battle here. I am worried that if these people don’t call soon, I will spend the whole call trying desperately not to rant incoherently at the client.
Because that would be, you know, bad.
Must dash—I’m out of chocolate.
Oct 10 04: re-entry
So. I got back from Viable Paradise yesterday afternoon, and spent the evening trying not to bump into the furniture any more than could be helped, nor to slump senseless into the take-out Afghani pulao. I am better now. Hi.
What an incredible experience. Six instructors spent six days cramming as much of their collective wisdom as possible into the heads of nineteen aspiring SF/fantasy writers. We had lectures and colloquia on plotting and exposition and the ins and outs of the publishing world. We learned how to set up a plan of attack when researching subjects we knew nothing about—and the topics that writers who don’t do their research always get wrong. (Guns and horses are particularly fraught.)
We had one-on-one sessions in which our instructors—professional writers and editors all—anatomized our work. We sat down with an instructor and three of our fellow students and listened to them pick our stuff apart. We had long impromptu discussions on topics central and secondary (and tertiary, and quaternary) to the matter at hand. We learned new games. We ate together. We begged each other for manuscripts to read and discuss. We had a group reading of Henry V that featured lots of beer and silly accents. We stayed up with our roommates until 3:30 in the morning, our heads bowed over our laptops, the only sound the frantic clicking of keyboards. (I came home with two new stories that weigh in at about 3,500 words total. Curious parties should contact me.) We laughed a lot. A couple of times we went down to the seashore by night to see the stars in their multitudes above our heads, and the luminous jellyfish in the water at our feet.
Our instructors gave freely of their experience and their expertise and their whiskey. The staff ran themselves ragged printing our manuscripts and providing us with crock-pots full of dinner.
Oh, and people were pretty enthusiastic about my stuff. That was nice.
If Teresa still requires any reassurance that we, her students, learned anything, I would say that at least for me the answer is a resounding yes. The technical stuff was useful; the factual stuff will doubtless come in handy in all sorts of ways. But in my case, foremost among all the things I took away is this: I learned that I really can sit down and go from no-ideas-in-my-pretty-head to completed story that makes people laugh and/or want to know what happens in the end. If I knew this going in, I didn’t believe it. So: time and money well spent.
I am now required to act upon what I have learned. I think it’s going to be fun.
Would-be liars should be aware that the submissions queue for VP IX opens on January 1, 2005, and plan accordingly.
Oct 2 04: t minus nine
My train for Goldens Bridge, NY leaves Grand Central Station in just under 9 hours. Once there, I locate Dave Kirtley, whom I have never met, and we drive to Woods Hole and catch the ferry to Martha’s Vineyard and Viable Paradise.
My bags are packed. I’ve got writing implements, a blank notebook or two, extra ink for the totemic pen, Pablo’s laptop, and a cloud of butterflies in my stomach who aren’t sure whether to stage a revolt or teach me to rumba.
What have I done?
I guess I’ll only be able to answer that when it’s over. Check back here in a week.
PS: Net access from VP will be somewhere between little and none, and the comment-spammers have been hitting strangeradiation.com/blog/ viciously over the past several days. I shudder to think of what the place will look like by the time I get back. I can only hope that I’ll be able to shove one of the doors open far enough to get in there with a hose…